Ancalagon Baggins
by fakeasain56
Summary: [AU] In which everyone survives, Bilbo manages to pick up a dragons egg, and is now landed with a dragon for a son.
1. The Egg

_a/n: The full prompt: _So, in with the gold Bilbo finds an odd dark blue gem the size of a softball. He takes it as part of his treasure, and later it hatches. Let's see him trying to raise a baby dragon.

Bonus for baby dragon snorting fire into Filis face, no burns

Bonus for it bringing meat back like a hunting hawk

Bonus for Bilbo giving the baby dragon a gold necklace or something to start its own hoard.

_Go to my profile to find the fanart drawn after the story that goes along with this fic! My many thanks to the artist still._

* * *

Thorin had survived. Bilbo repeated the words to himself as he gathered up a few treasures, and hastily escaped from the mountain.

Thorin- and everyone else- was alive and well. The dwarf, still recovering, had not yet retracted his harsh words, so Bilbo decided that now was the time to get going. He had fulfilled his part of the contract, and he was ready to get to his own, real treasure- a small pipe, a warm bed, and good food.

He had asked the older dwarves to steer him clear of any of the actual treasures of the Mountain- after the mess with the Arkenstone, and all that came with it, Bilbo was done with all of the truly valuable treasure. Just enough to see him comfortably through the rest of his life is good thank you.

That's why he picked up the smallish blue gem that Oin completely ignored. It was slightly warm to the touch, as if something had been warming it, but it was slowly growing chillier despite it being in Bilbo's hands. The hobbit shrugged, gathered up the last, and very shortly found himself on the road with Gandalf by his side, and Sting lightly resting on his hip, blue gem forgotten.

It remained mostly forgotten except for a quick depositing on the mantle in direct sunlight and Bilbo had to once again leave his nice, warm, hobbit hole in search of another type of treasure entirely- mainly his furniture. Some of it was promptly given back, some of it he had to argue for, and most of it, he had to wage a peculiar war on the Sackville-Baggins to regain.

He never did retrieve his silverware, but considered himself lucky with most of his furniture.

So it was, a month passed in this idyllic trough, Bilbo occasionally wiping off the gathering dust from the sun-lit gem. It was rather pretty, even if it was worthless, and Bilbo supposed it could be quite the conversation starter if he ever ran out… but he doubted he would.

So it was, Bilbo was sitting on the low rise outside of his home, smoking on his pipe with a clear view into his window when the gem began to shake and quiver. He was just stamping out the fire with a calloused thumb when a tiny, red scaled figure burst out, still wet from the embryioc fluids. It yawned in his window, a tiny lick of what looked like fire bursting from its maw.

Bilbo considered the very many words that he had learned over the course of his adventures. At last he settled on a rather faint, "Oh dear."

He went to market to go buy some freshly killed rabbit and a pannik of goats milk.

* * *

The baby dragon, curled up on his mantle still, hissed at him when he can n through the doorway, tail lashing in agitation. "Sorry little one- I wasn't expecting a dragon." Bilbo had no idea if the dragon could understand him, but he hedged his bets and was polite.

The dragon looked at him tiredly, as Bilbo bustled around, warming the milk and tenderizing the meat to something the small dragon could hopefully digest- Bilbo wondered if Dragons were more like the bird species and hacked up half-digested food for their babes, or more like dogs and nursed the young with milk.

He hesitated, holding warm milk in one hand, and meat in the other. Well… He would feed the tiny dragon milk- no need to whet its appetite for meat any earlier then it needed- "WHOOP!"

Bilbo practically screeched as the dragon launched itself as the tenderized meat, using him as a foothold. "Now you look here! Just calm down and stop climbing me and we can go ahead and sort this all out-"

The dragon buried its head in the meat and began to chew contentedly. Bilbo sighed as he ran a thumb against still soft scales. "I'll have to find you a bed- what would be a good bed for you. Smaug slept on gold, but it seems to me that it would be far too pointy and lumpy."

The dragon chirruped softly, golden eyes swiveling and focusing on him. Blibo looked as unedible as he possibly could. The dragon clicked softly, warbling in its strange tongue, tiny, still-useless wings spreading out to hit Bilbo on the back of the head and still-soft claws sinking into fabric.

"Now don't you think about chewing on me! I'll have to write Gandalf and ask him what to do with you. I'm not overly sure if you can- gwark!" A tail whipped around his throat, tightening uncomfortably as the dragon hissed at the very thought. Or- at something. Bilbo was busy dragging away the long tail from his throat like a second scarf to spare a thought.

The dragon hissed softly as it coiled around his neck, relaxing to a far more comfortable and less choking position. "Very well then, I believe you have made your thoughts clear on leaving- it shall not be tolerated."

Bilbo tried to imagine his neighbors faces when the little dragon began to grow- He really, really needed to talk to Gandalf.

* * *

Slit eyes followed Warm One as it walked, murmuring things It couldn't quite understand. The pale, fleshy substance was quite big in its eyes, but It had a feeling that Warm One would not be big when It was older.

It sniffed, tasting the Air with It's tongue- the taste of wood-fire and feathers came back. An irrepressible need to Gather, Collect, and Hold…_something_ rose within It, shaking It with a fierce desire.

A long neck snaked around, as slit eyes began to survey the room for something suitable to Hoard. The Warm One, as if sensing his need, looked to him, and then moved away. That meant _new_ and _unnamed_ something was coming.

Images of glitter things that were soft and malleable under heavy weight, or multi-faceted things glistening in fire itched at the corner of his mind.

Warm One came back with Something- it was white, fluffy. It looked soft- and all thoughts of glittering faded from It's mind as the fluff was placed in front of It, and It placed on top of it.

It purred softly, a quiet thrumming in the back of It's throat. It's wings, still too small to bear It in flight, unwound from its back, naturally resting stretched out from it. Warm One carefully placed Treasure beneath wings, keeping them at a comfortable level.

It yawned, and went to near-sleep, lulled by the warmth of Wood-Fire. The Warm One, satisfied that it had done its job, walked a short distance away, sat down on… _another treasure perhaps?_ to begin making tiny, scratching noises.

The noises were not unpleasant, and It listened to the soothing sound as the thing that Warm One used was dipped in and out of a tiny thing repeatedly, and put to something else where it left marks. That… seemed really cool, and Warm One- _Mother? Father? _seemed to enjoy it as well.

_another treasure to keep safe and warm and all mine_ except Father, when finished, gave it to another, and was even happier. _treasure shared? no share treasure. no._

But Father was happy. He did that Thing that sent shivers down It's spine in pure happiness. Then, the extra warmth was pulled away, as Father went back to its _food_ and began to munch quietly.

It watched Father for a little longer, the warm fire irresistibly pulling it towards sleep, until it at last fell asleep.

Visions of Treasure danced across the sleep land- of fluffy white, and thick, comfortable cloth, of flat rolling things with marks on them, and a good meal that had plenty of Green in it (even if it wasn't as tasty).

Treasure.

To be shared?

…

Perhaps.


	2. Chapter 2

To say that Older Hobbits were displeased would be an understatement. Lobelia and Lotho Sackville-Baggins were already displeased about the whole 'coming back' business, let alone having a miniature Wyrm suddenly appearing in the Shire. They aired their grievances quite publicly.

The Tooks and the Brandybuck's were certainly alright about the entire development- Other Baggins weren't so much, though Bilbo's aunts and uncles were willing to back their nephew in this case. Some of his cousins even, were willing to back him up, stoutly trusting Bilbo.

The argument raged on across the Shire, in a rather fierce battle of words. It did not, however, spill out of the Shire. They were just simple hobbits, no need to bother anyone else about this _slightly_ pesky dragon business and all.

The Gamgee's, bless Gaffer's old, crumdegy heart, solidly backed Bilbo so long as the Dragon didn't "_Mess with the garden I've been tending. We've got a boy on the way, an' I could be using the help."_

It wouldn't matter much- the Gamgee's, at least Gaffer, was unlettered and they weren't Gentlehobbits. But the old hobbit had his own brand of influence- he and his kin tended to many gardens and fields of Gentlehobbits, and everyone knew once you claimed their loyalty, they would follow you to the ends of the middle-earth and back again.

Whitfoot, the Mayor at the time, was worried about the whole deal- "I'm not sure Bilbo, after all, Dragons go out in search of treasure do they not? There's little gold in the Shire, and our Silverware has a habit of disappearing when the Sackville's come by already without more disappearances."

So the battle raged across the Shire as the Dragon quickly grew. Bilbo dispared of ever feeding the dragon enough- Green's didn't cut it, and the meat Bilbo could buy was expensive.

Then one day the dragon off and vanished without warning, Bilbo had panicked, and even though no one knew what they were supposed to do with a dragon, a search party was quickly formed and sent out.

Small forms moved swiftly through the green lands holding torches above their heads in search of the dragon. They found it, staring hard at a particularly pesky rabbit warren that had been eating many crops in the Shire. At its feet lay a pile of slightly bloody fur. A few of the hobbit children nearby explained that the Dragon (_"And oh, isn't he the prettiest thing you evar did see?")_ had been off and eating those pesky rabbits, and he was so much fun to play with, and oh, would they be able to play with him again?

The Dragon was then placed in the same category that Gandalf was often placed in- Disreputable and hardly proper but for the sake of the children, they would tolerate him. The Tooks claimed First Play.

Bilbo was just glad that the Dragon had learned how to hunt- now if he could only tell the Dragon that bringing home freshly killed rabbit without warning wasn't good… Then again, after Lobelia fainted at the sight and forced Lotho to drag her out…

Bilbo smiled at the dragon, rubbing its back along the ridge of hard scales, where the dragon enjoyed it most. "I suppose I can forgive you this once, hmm Little Wyrm?"

The dragon smirked back, lizard eyes glinting as it chirruped, "Little Wyrm!"

Bilbo about near fell out of his seat.

"What did you just say?"

The dragon's wings, once proudly spread, drooped slightly, miserably folding back along It's back. "Little Wyrm?"

"Ah, you're learning how to speak quite early, aren't you?" Speaking of which, Bilbo _ought_ to give the little one a proper Name, shouldn't he? "Now then, a name for you, hmmm?"

"Little Wyrm! Little Wyrm!"

"Nonsense, that's what you are, hardly a good name… unless… Well, the elven word for you would be _angulóke_, but that isn't quite right for you. I'm not sure about Dwarvish- they didn't teach me much. Hmm, but just calling you Angulóke is hardly proper either…"

The dragon's head twisted curiously to look at him, filled with a Took's sense of curiosity. It's red scales, like it's parents Smaug, glittered in the sunlight. Bilbo settled back, looking thoughtful. "There was Glaurung, the first dragon, Ancalagon was the first winged-dragon, and Scatha the cold-drake. But Smaug was your parent I believe, and Gandalf claimed he was the last great dragon of Middle-earth. Then again, I guess Smaug was less male and more female, hmmm?"

The dragon chirruped, whistled, and clicked softly. Bilbo smiled at it, wondering what to do next- it was only a few weeks old, and already speaking! Would it hit its full size in another month or so? He sincerely hoped not- there was no hole in all of the Shire to hold a full-grown Dragon.

But names- first, names. "Ancalagon is a good name, do you not think? Ancalagon Baggins."

The dragon practically glowed with pride as Bilbo named It, chirruping softly. Bilbo hoped that the Dragon would do far better then the one it was named after. Ancalagon Baggins tugged at his clothing, and took to the air to sail to where a small pile of blankets lay.

There it curled on top, looking like it had found its treasure and gold in soft fleece comforters and thick quilts. Bilbo smiled at the thought, of a gigantic dragon with a horde of blankets and fleece. There were a couple of rabbit skins mixed within, the soft fluffiness a warm comfort.

Ancalagon looked like the most comfortable and contented dragon that had ever existed. As if sensing his thoughts, Ancalagon tucked its head beneath a wing like a chicken would, and quickly fell asleep.

A small gaggle of Hobbit Children made their way up the path, tossing a ball back and forth. "Mr. Baggins! Can the Wyrm come out to play?"

"Ancalagon," Bilbo said with a gesture to confirm the Dragon's name, "Is sleeping right now."

The pile of lazy red scales didn't so much stir or twitch when the children looked to it. It did stir when one of the smaller children tossed the ball to it, a tail whipping out to bat the ball back. The children giggled as a triangular head rose, fixing them with beady eyes. The dragon hissed and took to the air, carrying the ball in its sharp claws- Bilbo called after It, "Play nicely Ancalagon!"

The children scattered shrieking and giggling in delight, barely avoiding trampling the garden as Gaffer's rough, angry voice began rising in a shout to mind the vegetables. The dragon dove down to hover above the vegetables and growing green things to hiss at the children, and (gently) chase them away.

Gaffer's rough, sour face broke into an almost smile at Ancalagon, as he said, "Good work." Then, he bent his back into digging up the weeds attempting to choke the garden. The dragon, pleased with its 'protection' of its 'treasure' went back to lazily chasing the children, making quick loops in the sky.

Bilbo smiled at the sight, and settled down with his pipe to watch the world pass him by- and start planning a quick visit to Rivendale. Hopefully the Elves there would be willing to lend him their library.

This time when he left, he would leave a very big notice on the door- _Leaving only for a short while. Do not auction my things thank you. The door has been locked._ Only Brandybuck's locked their doors at night, but Bilbo was beginning to see the wisdom in such actions.

Dragon and children played in sunlight as Bilbo Baggins considered many important things, before at last discarding them for the simple pleasure of smoking a pipe in the slowly waning summer.


	3. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins

It was sometime around Fall, when orange and yellow leaves danced together in the wind, and the harvest was really beginning, that Ancalagon stopped in its overly large growing to a more manageable one. It was still growing an inch a week, and was as tall as Bilbo, but at least for this winter, the Dragon would be able to stay in Bag End.

Ancalagon, as if sensing his mood, butted his shoulder lightly, "I'll be okay Pa."

Affection, warm and bright, bloomed in Bilbo's chest as he threw an arm around the still-small dragon. "We'll have to think about what to do home wise- perhaps someone will be willing to help me hollow out one of the hills behind."

Ancalagon yawned, sharp teeth glinting in the fall light as farmers trundled by, arms filled with crops. "I can help. I'm good at digging."

"Oh Ancalagon…" Dragons didn't exactly belong in the Shire, no matter how well loved they were- there was simply not enough room for them. Bilbo dreaded the day when Ancalagon was too big to fit into the hobbit hole. It would be a sad, sad day.

The dragon's head rose into the air sniffing at it in curiosity. "New smells! It smells like a lot of metal though-" A snout wrinkled in distaste. Bilbo considered what would happen if he sent Ancalagon out to answer the door, what with it being new people with a lot of metal. A lot of metal?

He frowned at the thought, trying to figure out who could possibly be visiting him. Probably a solicitor of some kind- they had been coming over quite often since he had returned with a great deal of money.

A knock came at the door. "No solicitors!"

Another knock. "We're not interested in new silverware thank you!"

There was a moment of silence. Satisfied, Bilbo returned his thoughts back to Ancalagon and how to feed a dragon through winter. The loud pounding at the door caught both by surprise. "Go answer the door and tell them we want nothing would you?"

The dragon took to the air, winging low across the empty table towards the door. The pounding was abruptly cut off as the Dragon opened the door-

A Dragon's scream and dwarven curses flew from the Front Door, and Bilbo practically flew out of his seat to find Ancalagon scrambling back for him. The large dragon, technically bigger then Bilbo cowered behind the tiny hobbit as at least five dwarven axes, several bows and a wizard's staff glowing with magical energy all pointed at a single hobbit and the Dragon cowering behind him. "Bilbo move! There's-"

"There will be no weapons in Bag End."

A few of the dwarves, the ones that Bilbo didn't recognize, stared at each other with confusion. The other ones looked exasperated as Gandalf retracted his staff, suddenly looking amused. "This isn't play time Hobbit."

"No it isn't. You shall put down those weapons and stop threatening my adopted son this instant or I will have you thrown out of the house. Or I will make you face Lobelia."

He sent a worried glance out the open doorway. After all _speak of the devil and she will appear_ deal and all.

Bilbo was quite gratified to see Fili and Kili put away their weapons, though most of the dwarves kept them firmly pointed at Ancalagon. The dragon's golden eyes peeked over the hobbit's shoulders as It whispered loudly, "I don't like them. Their rude."

Gandalf made a very, very odd noise, much like a smothered laugh.

"Well, I do suppose a Wyrm answering the door is cause for alarm." Bilbo reluctantly allowed.

Ancalagon made a whining noise deep in It's throat. "But I'm a Baggins, not a Wyrm! That's what everyone calls me at least." Gandalf, if he wasn't smothering laughter before was smothering it now. Bilbo could see the old shoulders shaking silently.

"Yes, well, either way, that has nothing to do with the rudeness of dwarves. If any of you expect dinner, you will need to put your weapons away. "

Bofur very quickly sheathed his weapon, looking from Hobbit to the still cowering dragon. A few of the other dwarves at least lowered theirs. Gandalf leaned on his staff, his laughter of before now under control. There was a suspicious twinkle in his eye as he asked, "And how did this newest member of your household come here?"

Bilbo's mouth opened, as his adoptive child rested It's snout on his shoulder. "Well, it's quite simple really. One of the gems I picked up was actually an egg. It hatched, and I've been taking care of Ancala ever since."

One of the dwarves protested weakly, "But surely there must've been a hubbub! A dragon?"

Bilbo frowned, trying to figure out what was wrong. "Well, there certainly was a bit of an uproar in the Shire, it died down quickly enough after we agreed that Ancala could hunt the rabbits eating crops and everything. So long as he doesn't do anything too bad, he can stay. Most put him into the same category as they do Gandalf." He paused, realizing the insult. "Begging your pardon Gandalf."

"No offense taken." Gandalf smiled into his beard. "I know many of the Hobbits opinions about me."

Ancalagon made a noise from behind Bilbo, bat-like wings spreading slightly in agitation. "Now then, I suppose you didn't come here to threaten my son, so what are you here for Gandalf?"

The wizard carefully attempted to walk around the chandelier- it, almost petulantly, hit him in the head anyways. The wizard glared at it. "One of these days, I will take that chandelier and melt it down into-"

"BILBO BAGGINS!" The feminine screech and swift, jabbing umbrella that swiftly parted the sturdier dwarves as Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, terror of the shire, strode through the dwarves as if they were nothing.

* * *

Gandalf had always held a special place in his heart for the Hobbits. The Halfling folk, though they didn't ever seem to know, or even realize it, were special. Certainly, they seemed unremarkable. They didn't bend metal in impossible shapes, they didn't speak to the trees, or make great monuments.

Hobbits were, in a word, content. They felt no need to go beyond what they had, could find happiness in just about any situation so long as they had food and drink, and saw little reason to bother the 'big folk' as they put it.

Hobbits were, Gandalf would admit to no one, where the wizard went to heal. To rest. To regain his wits, and his energy to once again face the World of Men. As the last Wizard actually really doing his job, with Saruman off doing who knew what, the other two disappearing in the West, and Randagast off mucking about with only the wildlife, Gandalf knew that he was the last of the Istari left doing his actual job of guiding the People.

And did the other races often need it- Gandalf had been busy shoving, pushing, pulling and in general dragging Men, Dwarf, and Elf along the pathway to life. Or living longer then what they often seemed intent on doing. Hobbits, thankfully, didn't need rescuing because they were smart enough to keep their noses out of the business of the World unless Gandalf himself dragged them off.

Not that Gandalf would ever admit to just how many hobbits had been off on World-Changing Adventures. He had a feeling if he ever let anyone, hobbits included, know just how often the halflings had managed to change a worse fate for a better one, he would be laughed out of the countryside.

Besides, this was his 'home' as one could put it. His treasured place. It was selfish to ask the Rangers to watch the Shire, and protect it from roving bands of evil, but Gandalf supposed it was less selfish, and more of a repayment. He had done many things for Man- they could at least repay him this and protect the Hobbits.

Gandalf was no seer- but something was on the move, and darkness was slowly awakening for some reason. Smaug's death had not, like Gandalf had hoped, stopped the darkness- merely delayed it. There was something else on the move, something darker awakening in the depths, and Gandalf doubted that it would be stopped.

But that was neither here, nor now. Here and now, there was a tiny hobbit lady, armed with an umbrella and a fierce stare batting and bowling dwarves over like they were nothing more then reeds in a river. "BILBO BAGGINS."

Said hobbit who had faced a dragon without flinching turned pasty white as he gulped. "Y-Yes Lobelia?"

"I would have words with you and your…" She paused, struggling for the right word, before her mouth at last spit out the word like a disease, _"son."_

There was a squeak from the chandelier, as the dragon looked down at this whole unpleasant business much like a hobbit child would- complete and utter terror. The Sackville's had a tendency to bring that about. The Sackville-Baggins had it down to an art. Lobelia whirled her umbrella to jab upwards sharply. The dragon cowered from above, fully terrorized by the woman and her umbrella.

_Only a hobbit._ The thought brought a slight smile to the wizard's lips.

Bilbo nervously skittered around the table, placing a few more dwarves between him and danger in a wise maneuvering tactic. The dwarves would have no idea what hit them, and by the time Lobelia freed herself from them, Bilbo would've escaped.

"Don't you run away from me Bilbo Baggins. Your son-" Another jab at the dragon clinging to the chandelier, "-has been stealing pigs and eating them."

Ancalagon instantly protested, "I have not! The only thing I've stolen is a few mushrooms from Farmer Maggot, and your son helped!"

A peculiar sort of silence fell, the silence of a woman being pushed to the brink. Bilbo made a 'shut up you fool' gesture to his son, who obviously missed it from his very comfortable position where he thought Lobelia couldn't reach him.

"You will take that back this instant youngling or I will-"

"But it's _true_." The dragon protested.

It was an, most of the dwarven company, and even Gandalf, had to later admit, impressive move. Lobelia had turned with enough grace and speed that would make even elves go green in envy, before the dragon was on the ground. An umbrella soundly whacked it upside the head.

Bilbo muttered a dwarven curse before moving forward to protect his son. Lobelia, satisfied with just the equivalent of a clout against the ear, sniffed as she returned to her prim and proper self without a hair misplaced. One day, Gandalf swore, he would learn how females managed such a feat.

For now, Ancalagon sulked behind Bilbo, looking miserable, dejected, put-upon, and in general, as if the world had conspired against him.

It was a fair enough assumption, the wizard allowed. The day had been going rather poorly for Ancalagon and all. Then again, the day had been quite unusual for the wizard as well. It wasn't often one found a baby dragon living in the Shire. He'd of supposed it impossible if Hobbits weren't in the habit of proving everything about them wrong at one point or another.

Lobelia tapped the tip of her umbrella against the floor. "I'm warning you- any more disappearances of pigs, and I will be bringing the mayor down upon this part of the Shire."

"What makes you think that it is Ancala anyways?" Bilbo demanded rather crossly, "He has been home for the past few days."

"My pigs have been disappearing down the west road leading to your doorway. And, other farmers have reported similar disappearances, further down, at a far faster pace then any respectable hobbit would go at."

A few of the dwarves twitched, sinking slightly in their seats. Gandalf made a mental note to chew them all out, as Bilbo frowned, "That's impossible. Ancalagon goes hunting to the east- more wild land that way to hunt."

Lobelia's eyes narrowed, but she wasn't accusing Bilbo of lying. Instead she turned to face the dwarves with a beady stare, before sniffing. "You're responsible for all of your guests actions Baggins. Remember that." With a loud huff, and a swirl of fabric, the terror of the Shire was gone.

More then one breathed a heavy sigh of relief to sag against the nearest piece of furniture. Fili felt the ever pressing need to ask, "Gandalf- why didn't we bring her along our quest? She'd of chased out the goblins and dragon real quick."

Gandalf shook his head solemnly- "Bilbo was a far better choice in other ways- though she would've rid us of the dragon quicker I believe." Eyes sparkled in amusement as he turned to the hobbit. "Now then. Bilbo, I believe you promised me some Longbottom Leaf?"

The hobbit tossed a small bag full of the pipe-weed to the man, who quietly excused himself. Ancalagon shortly joined him outside, as the dwarves attempted to pass on their message to Bilbo.

"Uhh, Thorin- Uncle that is, asks that you come back to Erebor. If you'll- apologize and all." Fili tried first, to Kili's whack at the back of the head.

Bilbo made a noise that for those unused to a Hobbit's way of speaking, might be assent- Gandalf knew hobbit snorts, and that was a rather firm 'no'. Ancalagon looked at him curiously, wings sunning in the afternoon light. Gandalf firmly squashed all desire to run fingers across the delicate wingspan- Bilbo's son undoubtedly wouldn't like to be poked or prodded. Then again, it never hurt to ask. "Might I be able to take a close look at those wings of yours Master Ancalagon?"

The dragon was shortly asleep in his lap, purring in contentment as Gandalf ran spidery fingers down tiny bones and thin membrane. Inside, a battle raged in a true hobbit sense. "I will be doing no such fools thing."

"But, Bilbo! You must!"

"Shan't."

"He is being awfully nice by dwarven terms Bilbo. I'd like for the two of you to make up if at all possible."

Bilbo shook his head. "I know very well when I took the Arkenstone that there would be little chance of me turning back, or of Thorin ever forgiving me. Besides, if he truly wished for reconciliation, then surely he would've come here."

The dwarves fell silent at that, a silence that Gandalf took pride in.

As one of the five Istari, he wasn't supposed to use his magic except in dire circumstances. (And hobbit children's pleading eyes were dire circumstances _indeed_) But he was most proud of the convincing he had done of dwarves about Bilbo Baggins.

_Thorin was threatening __**his**__ Hobbits._

_Gandalf supposed there were many words he could speak about such actions, but most of them were buried beneath the rushing anger._

_**His Hobbits**__. The __**Shire**__. The place that he considered __**home**__._

_And Thorin, no matter how empty his words may be, was threatening it, and all those who lived there._

_Thunder boomed on a clear days sky, rolling and rumbling across empty woodlands as Magikal Energy, ancient and angry, pulsed in time to Gandalf's heart. He called Thorin by his true name- the one a dwarf would tell none but their most trusted companions, and looked quite imposing in all of his wizard fineness._

_"If you dare enter the Shire, before Baggins or any other hobbit welcomes you, then there will be no mountain hold strong enough, no cave dark enough, no rock big enough to save you from **my** wrath."_

That was that. Thorin hadn't dared stepped into the Shire, instead sending off a delegation, and none of the dwarves had protested when Gandalf had said that he was coming along with them. There was newfound respect in Fili's and Kili's eyes though- and a few others. Bofur, bless his heart, had volunteered to deliver the message, though after everything was said and done, Fili had gone off and jumped the gun.

Bofur, in the hobbit hole, rolled his eyes as he suggested, "First should we get food, and discuss it over a meal hobbit? I know others may scoff, but I've missed your cooking."

No Hobbit could ever resist the lure and promise of both food, the cooking of it, and feeding others of it. "I suppose. But none of this going back to Erebor business over the meal."

Gandalf smiled around his pipe, and blew a ship sailing off to the west, with naught but elves and a wizard upon it.

Eventually, Elves, Wizards, Dwarves, and Halflings- all the magic, all the mystery, would be gone. Men would rule then- and forevermore. Until then however… a small hobbit home, a promise of a very good meal, good tobacco, and a child on his lap.

_This_ was why he loved Hobbits.

Ancalagon sleepily stirred in his arms, with all the trust of a hobbit's child, asking innocently, "Will you be telling stories about my ancestors?"

Gandalf chewed on his pipe. There were no 'good' wyrms, as far as the tales were concerned. They had been created by Sauron and his kind to lay ravange to the land, to be his servants, to answer his dark call. Only time would tell to see if a Hobbit's love or Sauron's commands hiding in the blood would prove stronger.

"I have a few stories about Belladona Took, Bilbo's mother and your grandmother, if it would please you. And Bilbo himself quite probably has a few tales to tell!"

Though, on second thought, bragging about killing your adoptive son's parent was probably not a good idea.


	4. The King

The trip to Rivendale kept being put off. There was so much to do after all, and traveling in winter was nasty business indeed. Better to go during spring. Even if it meant that spring showers would leave the road muddy, at least it would be warmer out. And it wouldn't be summer heat when no one wanted to be outside anyways except in a nice, deep river.

And, if he left in the spring, he could avoid Gaffer's grumbling about the state of the garden after the winter's snow. Yes, that sounded like a mighty good idea, and a few of the elves had mentioned they were interested in Ancalagon, so he'd bring along the dragon.

Snow, a light, thin layer, decorated the ground as Ancalagon frolicked in the cold air. There were laughs, shrieks, and giggles as snowballs flew through the air. Ancalagon took to the air, dodging snowballs easily, even as clawed talons attempted to pack a snowball.

It wasn't working, and Bilbo sighed sadly as he watched his son slowly become more and more frustrated with it. Claws weren't very good in the manner of packing snowballs, tending to gardens, or many other Hobbity business.

The children, realizing the problem that Ancalagon was struggling with, called a temporary truce to put their heads together. "We can't just leave him out."

"But it's not fair either- I mean, he can fly to dodge our snowballs. And he can go right over any fortresses we build…" One of the younger hobbits protested, before looking at Ancalagon with an apologetic look on his face. "And it's not like he can really run around either."

Bilbo hid his wince, as Ancalagon's wings drooped miserably. The children meant no harm, but it was hard to change their play-ways for only one other. The dragon stared down at the turned up, scuffed up snow, obviously trying to think of a way that this could be done, where he could still play with the others.

A few of the children looked irritated at the whole pause, scowling and stamping their bare feet in the snow. One of them tossed a snowball at their older cousin, who caught it easily. The Brandybuck blinked, and peered a little closer at the ball, before looking to Ancalagon. "Ancala! Catch!"

Wings flared in a panic as talon paws somehow managed to catch the snowball. "Alright, I got an idea- Acala has to snatch the balls from out of the air!"

"What!"

"It makes sense, he has to come on down into range to get the snowballs, and it won't count if they explode in his claws."

Within seconds, snowballs and dragon were flying through the air once again. Bilbo smiled, settling further into his seat as they ran about. He pulled out his pipe, and puffed at it thoughtfully- Gandalf said that Ancalagon would stop growing for about 10 Men's years, the dragon equivalent of being in puberty, to stock up on energy. After the 10 Men's years, then in about a fortnight, it would grow to its full size as to avoid being overly vulnerable.

Or maybe Gandalf was working a bit of his magic to keep the Dragon in the Shire for just a little longer. Bilbo wasn't sure why, but whatever the reason, he was grateful for it. 10 years was a much better set of time to figure out what to do with a dragon.

And a much better set of time to spend with his new adoptive son and successfully dodging all issues of returning to Erebor. Afterall, a hobbit could hardly drag his dragon son to a mountain attacked by a dragon and expect a warm welcome, right? Right. So, successfully worming out of going within a mile of Erebor had been thankfully easy. Bofur hadn't been able to think of a come back about that pesky business.

So, no having to go anywhere for the hobbit. If anything, everyone was going to have to come to him, and the chances of Everyone having to deal with Lobelia for him were high. The woman was on a rampage after being denied ownership of Bag-End.

Bilbo had to smile despite himself as he puffed at his pipe. Yes, that was a good idea, a very, very good idea. He would send all pesky visitors to Lobelia and she could deal with them.

Ancalagon swooped past on glittering red wings, as Bilbo relaxed. It would be at least several months before any other dwarves could think about coming to him, especially since Thorin ought to still be in Erebor…

A stout figure, completely alone and dressed in fine clothes appeared over the hill, slowly making his way towards them. Bilbo knew who it was just by looking at the way the man walked- Thorin. Thorin was in his Shire, and would undoubtedly-

"Children, why don't you go further down the lane before Gaffer sees you and gets angry."

The kids fled in the opposite direction of Thorin, as the dwarf continued his steady pace up the hill to where they played. Ancalagon winged after them slowly, glancing behind at the visitor curiously, but not willing to give his play-place.

Bilbo steeled himself for the oncoming storm. There would probably be shouting. Lots of it.

He sighed as he made his way to the door, leaving it open in a silent invitation. No need to catch his neighbors attention any more then what would be caught. There was the sound of footsteps on his front porch, and Bilbo turned around to look into the eyes of Thorin Oakenshield for the first time since the Battle of the Five Armies.

"Hobbit."

"King Oakenshield." Thorin stopped for a moment, staring at him hard-eyed. Bilbo smiled pleasantly.

"You never called me that when we were traveling." It came out faintly accusing. Slightly… Bilbo wasn't sure what emotion was there.

"You weren't King then." Bilbo said simply; Thorin had been his friend then. A companion, someone to follow, a person he could trust. Thorin was King now, a person above Bilbo. Someone Bilbo would treat with calm equity. Not someone Bilbo knew.

"I see." Thorin shook his head, frown growing fiercer and eyes brighter. "You don't seem surprised to see me."

Bilbo was pretty sure that the second Thorin let him be, he would faint. Still, nervously, he slipped his hand into his pocket. The smooth, cold metal of the ring reassured him. It may be cowardly to run, but Bilbo always did prefer not to make too much of a scene.

But Bilbo didn't say any of this, merely shrugging. "After having a party of ten dwarves on my doorstep and threatening my son I thought you might be here eventually."

This was a lot, lot sooner then he originally expected, otherwise Bilbo would be safely in Rivendale where the dwarf would sooner die then enter. Bother the cold weather, he didn't want to be having this talk. Not so soon.

Thorin closed the door after him, and stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room. Bilbo didn't offer him food, a place to sit- nothing. He was just a simple gentle hobbit after all, and he didn't have anything to offer a King.

A King who seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable as the seconds trickled by. "I came here for a pressing question Hobbit." Thorin at last muttered, "If knowing what you know now, would you still choose the same actions?"

Bilbo didn't even have to think about it, the answer flying straight and true. "Yes."

He would. He would gladly be hated by all the dwarves to simply know all of them were alive. Bilbo had considered it from any angles, determined he had made the best choice, and it had been a good choice. Thorin had been either going Kingly or Goldmad and disregarding that he was about to condemn his family to death. Bilbo supposed he would've been a little more willing to let it go if it was just Thorin himself- but there were other lives at stake and bother all treasure.

Thorin's mouth compressed into a thin, hard line, as he drew himself up tall. Bilbo didn't bat an eye- most people were taller then him. It was a fact of life, though he had sorrowed about it quite often when he was younger. For now, it was simply another difference being wedged between them.

"You would not take it back? Not change a thing?"

Bilbo shook his head- if everyone was alive, then what was there to change?

An even more frustrated look crossed Thorin's face, as thick fingers curled into angry fists. After a trembling, hard second, the moment passed. "I heard that you have a child."

"Yes. Ancalagon."

Thorin frowned. "You named your son after a wyrm?"

Oh dear. Nobody had told him? Then how had Thorin not noticed the dragon swooping over the children? Was he that blind? Or had he simply been distracted?

"Nobody's told you much about my child, have they?"

As if in answer to the worst possible moment, when Bilbo was mentally pleading for this talk not to get any worse, Ancalagon swooped in through the doorway, covered in snow and laughing. "Father! Father!"

Thorin's face went milky white as the dragon landed, affectionately butting his head against Bilbo's shoulder. Despite the situation, Bilbo smiled, running his fingers across a triangle head, before saying softly, "Dear heart, would you please go to your room? I have business to take care of."

"Your son is a _wyrm_?!"

Bilbo moved to put himself between his son and the King, gently shoving Ancalagon towards his room. "Room Ancalagon. I'll call you out when our visitor leaves."

Thorin's face was growing darker and darker by the moment. "You have a _wyrm_ for a child?"

Ancalagon looked between Bilbo to Thorin to protest weakly, "I'm a Baggins. All the other dwarves agreed."

"Ancala, go to your room. Please."

The dragon fled.

* * *

Ancalagon curled up miserably atop his horde- the fleece blankets were warm and soft, and the smell of old books was comforting. But nothing was drowning out the battle raging in the living room.

_"A Wyrm. You brought a Wyrm to live with you, and you dare say that __**I**__ was foolish?"_

The dragon buried its head a little further underneath its wings. Just because it didn't look like all of the other hobbit children, didn't mean anything much. There were other children that didn't look like the others. Though he couldn't remember any Hobbit children with wings. Maybe he was a ginat mutated bird.

"A WYRM DESTROYED MY HOME OR DID YOU FORGET THAT _MASTER_ BAGGINS?"

"I don't see what that has to do with Ancalagon. He has been nothing but kind to you, and the Shire."

Maybe the dwarf didn't like It because it had accidentally snorted fire into Fili's face? It had only blown the eyebrows off, no lasting damage, and the brothers seemed amused by the action. Maybe this was an angry parent.

The thought cheered the dragon. The new dwarf was just an angry parent, much like Lobelia-

"Did you forget Burglar, of the quest we went on to slay the predecessor of that beast?"

It's… parents were dead. It had known that, but Bilbo- it's _father_ had killed it's parents? That wasn't true. That couldn't-

"My Lord King." Father was frosty polite, "Our company did no such thing. We awoke the Dragon, and it laid waste to the city, where it was slain by a _human_. When Ancalagon hatched awhile later on my mantle, I was not going to kill him in cold blood."

"No, you are far too soft-hearted." The 'King' (whatever that meant) snorted. "Shall I finish the job then?"

"If you dare raise a single hand to my son King Oakenshield, I will make you regret it. If you wish to be mad at me, then be mad. If you dare touch my son, that I will not tolerate."

Floorboards creaked. "I could slay you with a single strike before you could move. And yet you stay by the wyrms side?"

"He is my _son_."

Ancalagon buried his head beneath the soft, comfortable blankets and quilts he had felt the need to pile up in his room, trying to ignore the argument.

"Hobbits! You betray me, and take the side of a wyrm. I wonder why I even bothered coming here!"

Betrayed? Father wouldn't betray anyone! Not unless they were doing something bad! What was the King person doing that was so bad that Bilbo would stand against him? Ancalagon's head rose from beneath the blankets and covers to stare at the door. Cautiously he crept closer, trying to hear better.

"Ancalagon has done nothing like his predecessor, and even Gandalf thinks it a good thing that he has come to live here. The only one who seems to have a problem with it is you."

"And here I stand, bitterly cursing the foolishness of Hobbits!" There was a stamp of a heavy boot against the wooden floorboards, a low groan of anger. A cold silence fell between them.

"I came here originally hoping to repair our friendship, but I don't see how it may happen now." The king took a deep breath, "Here, have this. It's made of a material you've probably never heard of. But- if that wyrm ever attacks you, it should keep you alive long enough to get away."

"Ancalagon isn't going to do that." Father insisted angrily, "And I'll thank you not to put any ideas in his head."

"How much longer do you suppose you'll have before his lust for gold and treasure overcomes him?" There was a dry noise at that, but Father didn't protest. "Keep an eye on him. And- well."

Metal-clad feet stomped out of the hobbit home, leaving behind the quivering Ancalagon, and Father. Ancalagon hesitated inside his room, fluttering anxiously at the door. Father, without raising his voice, said wearily, "You may come out now."

Slowly, wings folded tight along his spinal ridges, the dragon approached his Father wearily settling into the biggest, most comfortable chair. Talons slowly reached out, as if to touch Father, before Ancalagon jerked back, retreating closer to the fire despite his bulk.

"You heard, didn't you?"

"I-It isn't true, right? I mean, I'm not going to hurt anyone, am I?"

"That's certainly the idea." Father said softly, rising off of the chair, and settling down next to Ancalagon. Softly he covered the dragons head with his hands. Ancalagon flinched back into the fire.

"Hush, you aren't going to hurt me." Father chided softly, reaching out again to throw an arm around the too large body. Ancalagon shivered uncomfortably at the touch. Then it stilled, afraid of hurting Father.

"I'm not going to hurt anyone right? Just- Just because my dad did, but not all dragons are bad right? I don't want to hurt you or anyone else…" It hated how soft its voice was, hated how Father suddenly grew silent, hated everything about this whole wretched situation. "Father?"

"It's true, that there haven't been any tales of good dragons. But then again, there certainly haven't been any tales of Hobbits going off and helping to take back an ancient kingdom. It's a tale that you'll have to create yourself I think."

Ancalagon looked away, "But what about my blood? Blood is a powerful thing."

"I'm part Took you know- part Baggins as well." Ancalagon turned to Father, wondering where this was going. "When I was younger, I let my Took side run wild- it nearly killed me a few times. I rejected it then, and tried to make myself naught but a Baggins. That doesn't work either. It's only when I accepted my Took side, and used it to help, did I find peace in my blood."

Father smiled into the fire, watching it burn slowly. One hand lazily rubbed at the scaled head, touching nerves that made tense muscles relax. "Time will tell us what sort of blood runs through your veins."

"Do you think I will? That I'll destroy towns and villages, and everything like that?"

"I think that you'll make me proud." Father said softly.

Ancalagon sighed- it wasn't an answer. He could demand answers, but he didn't want to push it. Instead, softly, he asked, "Will you tell me about my parents?"

"…When you're older, my son. When I know you can handle the truth."

"But I know the truth now! Why can't I- What more horrible things happened?!" Distress rose in the tiny dragon, as wings fluttered anxiously. "Father?"

"Calm down, calm down. Nothing for it then. Fetch the book I've been writing in. I was writing it for you, really. To tell you everything you may need to know about your parent, about the journey I took."

Ancalagon instantly zoomed on the thick book sitting on a table. Bilbo had been writing in it for months now, pulling together maps, sketching out ink profiles- "I haven't told the tale to anyone, I didn't want anyone's perception of you ruined. But I suppose with the whole bother, I should at least tell you the story."

Deep into the night, Father told the story of how he left The Shire, found a golden ring, fought orcs and goblins, and defeated an ancient, evil dragon to the wondering ears of a tiny almost-babe who listened attentively.


	5. Frodo

Spring came- and with it, many, many surprises. The biggest, and most life-changing of which, was little Frodo Baggins, his cousin, coming to live with Bilbo and Ancalagon Baggins.

Bilbo had panicked a little about the whole deal. Taking care of Ancalagon was _nothing_ like taking care of a Hobbit Child, as Hobbit Children actually required time for them to grow.

But secretly, he was rather hopeful about the whole business as well. Ever since Thorin's visit, Ancalagon had been self-conscious, and unwilling to play with any of the children out of fear of harming them. No matter what the children did, none of them could coax Ancalagon into playing with them as freely as they once could- Bilbo doubted that anybody could.

So, it was with great surprise, he had one day answered the door to find a young Frodo Baggins, and the Master of Buckland sitting on his doorstep, the Master looking very worried. Frodo was not fitting in among the rambunctious Brandybuck's and the restless Took's, and the Thain and Master both agreed that Frodo needed to leave. Not out of not being loved- but fear that the other children would quickly tear him to pieces if he stayed too much longer despite the fact that they loved him.

Bilbo had to admit deep in his heart, that Frodo was indeed a very good lad, and would quite probably be able to drag Ancalagon out of his shell. Certainly the dragon had already found himself quite comfortable with Frodo after Brandybuck brought the child to Bag End, and Frodo…

Well, Bilbo had never before met a hobbit that showed such a great interest in stories, or had such a sharp, inquisitive mind. It was like a missing piece to the little puzzle he called family, and while he would've liked to include some dwarves with it…

Well, Thorin storming out, refusing to spend even one night was clear enough of a sign that Bilbo should expect no dwarves on his doorstep ever again. Though he had heard that Lobelia armed with an umbrella may or may not of chased him from a small group of children… (for whatever Lobelia's faults, she was a protective woman of children and would tolerate no ill to befall them on her watch)

Frodo as well seemed to fit in well with the dusty scrolls, the leather bound volumes, and thick blankets. Ancalagon, in a fit of dragon's gloating, had to show off his horde. Which, Bilbo would admit only in his mind, was actually a rather impressive horde really. The tomes were ancient, and well taken care of on rare subjects. The fleece blankets were from the best sheep, and the softest wool. The scrolls were thick vellum that had enough information to overthrow a kingdom…

Bilbo had no idea where the dragon had gotten it, but he wasn't about to wrestle away Ancalagon's hard work, especially as it was keeping its mind off of gold and gems. Smaug in his waistcoat of gold and jewels had been an amazing sight to see, but the fire breathing part wasn't and-

A knock came at the door, as a small, curly head peeked around the corner. Ancalagon, sulking in front of the fireplace over the fact that its horde had been raided and its best fleece blanket had been carried off for Frodo's bed perked up at the sound.

"Ancalagon, why not say hello to your new brother?"

The dragon took off instantly, scrambling to open the door.

Young Frodo, little more then a baby really, stood in the doorway, bag clutched in his hand as the Master of Brandybuck stood behind him with a single packed bag. "Is that all?"

Saradoc nodded slowly, "His parents didn't leave much behind. What little he's had, the lads at the Hall have practically torn apart at one point or another. He still can't seem to get in his head to lock his door at night either."

The large hobbit sighed as he shook his head. "You don't do that so close to the forest." There were tales, rumors, and even a few recorded instances of children disappearing in that forest. It was not to be taken lightly.

Frodo and Ancalagon stared at each other with wide eyes, Frodo clinging to his bag, and Ancalagon anxiously fluttering his wings. Saradoc muttered, "You sure this is a good idea? I can give you a little extra if you need it."

Bilbo smiled- while Bilbo was more careful and measured with his wealth, Saradoc was known for being very much a giver of it. Mostly the Tooks were the ones to snag it, with their wild ideas. Still, there were far worse reputations one could be known by. Just take the Mad Baggins.

"It depends on whether you want my name besmirching your cousin."

"And yours."

"Aye, Mad Baggins, isn't it?"

"You have Took blood in you." Saradoc pointed out, humorously, "No Brandybuck unfortunately, but I suspect that failing can't be helped on your part."

Bilbo laughed- his neighbors may yet avoid him, but at least the Brandybuck's had made themselves into very good friends. "Very true- but Ancalagon I think could use a lad like Frodo to be his brother and friend."

Saradoc chewed his next words, sharp eyes evaluating Bilbo in a stare that even Elves might find uncomfortable. "How much longer does he have here?"

The dragon and the hobbit, unaware of the conversing adults, solemnly went through Frodo's bag of treasures. Ancalagon's head bobbed in time to Frodo's words, watching the proceedings with calm dignity.

Bilbo grimaced at the words- Saradoc meant no harm by them, but it was still a pain to think about. "Ten years or so. Then I'm afraid he'll be far too big for any Hobbit hole."

The Brandybuck nodded slowly. "Any thoughts on where he'll go next?"

"That I intend on letting him decide- though any ideas would be nice."

The Master of Buckland shrugged, but his impressively sharp mind was obviously already ticking. "I'll muse on it for the next few days- and attempt to convince my babe Merry that Frodo won't be coming back to stay."

"The Thain of the Tooks still only have daughters, do they not?"

"Aye, and they swear their next one will be a daughter as well. Three of them, and not a boy! Well, it don't matter much- the girls are hardly going to let the Thain'ship crawl out of their hands, especially the oldest. Most Brandybuck like she is."

Saradoc grinned that the very thought as Frodo and Ancalagon went dashing out shouting about mushrooms. It wasn't until they were out of true earshot did he ask, "Ever thought about asking the dwarves if they'd be willing?"

Bilbo tried to imagine it- Ancalagon, in Erebor, with all the dwarves. With _Thorin_. "No, I don't imagine the dwarves will be happy to accept him."

"Surely there must be at least one group that would. There are always a Took-like group in every race, of that I am certain. It would be rather smart of them anyways. The dragon to guard their treasure as the dwarves dig and forge it. Certainly he'd need to be paid, but a dragon? Men would come around for miles just to see that sight." Saradoc didn't even need a few days to come up with a highly profitable plan.

The Tooks may have had fairy blood in them, but the Brandybuck's must have dwarven. Bilbo tried to imagine Saradoc with a beard, and only ended up with a hurt mind. "It is a good thing that you are smart enough to come up with these plans Saradoc, or you would find yourself poorer for it!"

The hobbit harrumphed, "It is because I give out my gold so freely that I am rich. At least I will not die as my aunt did, unloved and hated, unable to see my children married because I was too much of a dragon myself for any lass or lad to even think about it. Besides- what would I do with all of that money anyways? Just attract trouble from the forest is all."

Bilbo nodded at the wise words of a wise hobbit, and invited him in for second lunch. Saradoc happily accepted.

* * *

Five years passed, and any fears that Bilbo might've had about Frodo and Ancalagon vanished. The two were as thick as thieves, and when Merry started coming around, quickly opened their friendship to him.

Gaffer continued his work in the garden, though he was getting older and slower now. Bilbo would attempt to join him only to be chased off with a steely stare and a strong admonition that there was no need for a gentlehobbit to be doing such things. Besides, his youngest son ought to be joining him.

Samwise Gamgee was as steady as his father, and quickly proved to be as knowledgeable as him. The two of them were soon immersed in a discussion of what kind of soil was best for which roots, the drainage, how you should rotate the plants, and _stop staring at yer master's and pay attention boy!_

Sam, with a flush, would duck his head and return to digging.

Bilbo, with the Gamgee's support in mind, told Frodo not to look down on them just because they were of a lower class. Frodo in turn seemed to take it in heart, and began to sneak Sam mushrooms that he and Ancalagon had found. The two began another friendship, a soft, kind one that grew like a mighty oak. And if Bilbo taught Sam letters while teaching Frodo... well, Gaffer never protested.

Six years passed, and dwarves began to show up on Bilbo's doorstep again. They didn't mention Thorin once- Bilbo never asked. Instead they talked about how there was talk about groups going to Moria, to try and reclaim the ancient Dwarven home. (There seemed to be a rather lot of ancient dwarven homes that had been since destroyed or what had you Bilbo thought but kept it to himself)

Ancalagon began to listen in on the talks, and joining them himself. The dwarves that Bilbo actually talked too didn't mind (he had a sneaking suspicion that somebody was picking the visitors very carefully) and included him in, while it went far above Frodo's head.

Bilbo found himself tucking Frodo in for the night as Ancalagon and the dwarves argued over how to reclaim Moria. There was no mention of King Thorin except in passing, and every time his name was mentioned, Ancalagon's scales rattled in distaste.

At the very least nobody had even mentioned Bilbo going back to Erebor again.

At year nine, the plans were set, Merry, Frodo, and Sam were fast friends, and Ancalagon was going to Moria with the dwarf's to reclaim their homeland in a manner suggested by Saradoc Brandybuck.

Year Ten, two nights before Ancalagon would grow to his full size, the dragon and the hobbit bid a rather teary farewell with Gandalf standing at the door watching the two with sharp, thoughtful eyes.

"Goodbye my son. Don't eat too many orcs, goblins, or anything that would make you sick."

"I'm going to miss you dad. I'm not much of a fighter."

"I'm sure you'll be just fine- you have a strong coat of scales to protect you. Just guard your weak spot mind you."

"I will father. I will."

Frodo was carried off to bed, too young yet to realize that Ancalagon would not be there on the morrow. Balin stood at the doorway, watching the two's teary-eyed proceedings with astonishment. "Hobbits!"

"And a Wyrm." Kili pointed out, amused. As the younger of the two brothers, he was expected to go and reclaim what would be his new home if he could manage the job. Bilbo imagined that Kili would have had to pried himself out of Thorin's hands to go along, but Balin, Ori, and several others Bilbo recognized were accompanying him.

"He's a hobbit too." Balin mumbled, "Hopefully he'll grow into his role like the Burglar did- just quicker."

Bilbo shook his head as he brought Ancalagon closer. "I'm afraid I haven't got much. Just things that are Hobbit sized, not dragon sized. But- well, I went and talked to a few elves, and managed to get something for you. Here, a bag. You can consider it the start of your new horde since you must leave this one behind for now."

There was an ancient tome, bound in leather, paper made from an Ent's branches that he had freely given. There was a blanket, spun from worms that lived deep within the earth to the softest silk you had ever touched. And finally- there was a home-cooked loaf of bread wrapped in a silk hankerchief that Bilbo had forgotten on his own adventure so many years ago. "The bread won't last long, so eat it up quick, and keep the hankerchief."

"You never know when it'll be handy." Ancalagon finished for him, wings wrapping like arms around Bilbo in a fierce hug. "I'm soon going to be too big for this."

"I still expect you to visit every year on your birthday, and don't think that being all the way in Erebor will make you exempt from giving out presents on yours." Bilbo scolded softly, before reaching back to lightly scratch at the soft spot.

Ancalagon purred at the touch, before winging out after the dwarves.

The wizard lingered a moment longer, staring at Bilbo, who stared back in the growing night. It was better to leave like that, especially as half the Shire would've turned out otherwise. "Gandalf, he's going to live, isn't he?"

"One can only hope Bilbo."

"I can't stop this, can I?"

"Not unless you want a full grown dragon collapsing houses across the Shire."

A long, long moment of silence. "I wish I could've had longer."

Gandalf closed his eyes, remembering all those who came before Bilbo and said similar things. The lament of the Elves over their dead companions. _I wish I could've had longer._

"It's a wish often made Bilbo."

Wise Hobbit eyes turned to old Wizard, inhuman and ever-lasting. "I suppose then, that is a wish you hear the most."

Gandalf smiled tiredly, wondering when his time on Middle-Earth would be ended. "A wish I've made as well."

Bilbo sighed, as he handed over a pouch. "Longbottom Leaf. I fear for my first son, but I suspect I will fear for my ears more tomorrow when my second son wakes up."

"I suppose then I shall have to use a few of my fireworks then, hmm?"

"You're not going with them?" Bilbo asked, surprised.

Gandalf shook his head. "My business lies in other places. I plan on spending the night here with your permission, and then continuing West after."

Bilbo nodded- he supposed he shouldn't be surprised, afterall, Gandalf was a very busy wizard. And the Dwarves were a tough lot, they could take care of themselves. "You certainly may. I'll air out Ancalagon's room since it has the biggest bed."

That night, instead of sleep, Gandalf solemnly paged through ancient books describing ancient dragons. The tales were aweful, horrid things describing the death and destruction wrought- Gandalf remembered spearheading many expeditions sent out to slay them.

There was no tale of a good dragon. There was no tale of a Hobbit either. Only the Dwarf's and a few of the Elves told the tale of the Halfling that went to slay a dragon- the Men simply thought he was an odd looking dwarf.

No, there was no tale of a Hobbit.

But perhaps…

Tales were written of the first ones to do something. Maybe perhaps there would be a heroic tale of a dragon.

Gandalf almost hoped not-

A tale of heroics was generally written for those who died.


	6. An End

a/n: Thank you everyone who read. Once again, I refer you to my profile for the wonderful art that goes along with this chapter. Be sure to drop a line and tell me how much you enjoyed!

* * *

There was a motherfucking Balrog in Moria.

The dwarves discovered it around year 10 of Ancalagon leaving the Shire. But still, a _Balrog_ in _Moria_, awakened by the goblins because they couldn't quite swarm to the point where Anclagon couldn't roast them alive.

The dragon had been very pleased with himself, congratulating himself on a job well done, and casually winging through gigantic columns that dwarfed even a full grown dragon. That's when it appeared.

The Balrog erupted out of a fissure like Lobelia from bushes, expressions exactly the same. Dwarves swore later that they had heard the most unseemly shriek from Ancalagon, followed swiftly by a shout of "LOBELIA IS BACK AND SHE SPROUTED FIRE!"

Then there was a silence, before Ancalagon came tearing back through the dwarven tunnels shrieking in terror. Many dwarves later swore that they had never seen a dragon needing brown pants, but as there was a fiery roar and a crack of a fire whip, they had turned around andthought they'd seen-

"That really is Lobelia," Kili muttered, eyes wide as the Balrog began to descend upon them.

Balin didn't hesitate- he picked up the younger dwarf and began to run. "BACK! BACK TO THE GATES! GET OUT! WE MUST GET OUT OF THE MOUNTAIN!"

Dwarves abandoned their places, short, stubby legs booking it back towards the gates. Ancalagon shot ahead of them, shouldering the giant doors open. The still lake, cleared of the giant tentacle monster, rippled in response to the tremors. Ancalagon whirled around as there was a cry-

One of the dwarves had tripped and fallen. He could see Balin skidding to a halt, Kili still thrown over one shoulder, reaching back-

It was Ori. Ori who had patiently read to him from tomes he was too large to read from anymore. Ori who had written the letters he had sent home. Ori who _was his treasure, his horde, and he didn't __**share**_.

Eighty feet of furious dragon slammed into the Balrog, it's own smoke rising from nostrils and mouth. Ori scrambled up to his feet in that precious second that Ancalagon had bought him, and Balin grabbed the younger by the shirt to pull him towards the door. Other dwarves were pouring out of side tunnels, faces going pasty white at the sight of the Balrog.

Ancalagon roared, practically feeling the thrumming of ancient commands twined within his blood rising to the surface. Something was threatening his horde, and it could not, _would not_ be tolerated. He had given up one horde freely- but he wasn't letting one be taken away.

Dragon and Balrog stared at each other, Ancalagon's wings beating in time to his heartbeat. He oculdn't hear anything beyond a low thrumming, and the command to _kill_.

The Balrog was hesitating- Ancalagon did not. With a roar, he tackled the balrog, claws scrambling to tear off the head. The claws raked against black shadow, and went through. The fire that made up its throat scorched claws.

Ancalagon felt the giant beast beneath his claws waver, and fall backwards- He shot forward at the last second, barely avoiding the calwed hands that reached for his wings. The dragon attempted to shoot upwards- and slammed into the ceiling. The Balrog roared from its position on the ground, as Ancalagon attempted to hover for a few moments. He just needed long enough to catch his breath-

The fire whip wrapped around his neck, and threw him into the nearest pillars.

Ancalagon groaned as he shook himself, giant bat-like wings aching and punctured. His sharp eyes glanced sideways. The Balrog pulled himself to his feet, the firey whip crackling and shimmering with heat.

A single white flame dripped out of Ancalagon's mouth, as he stared defiantly up at the Balrog. This place was _his_ the dwarves that fought and lived there were _his_ and nothing would drive him out.

"ANCALAGON!" The faint shout caught his ears. His head swiveled, looking to the entrance. The dwarves were waiting there, hands on the doors. "COME ON!"

Good hobbit sense and Wyrm logic warred within. He wouldn't be able to win this fight. Ancalagon knew that- he was still yet young and inexperienced. Fighting things that you ate by the mouthful was hardly the same as battling a monster bigger then you. But his dragon blood cried out and screamed against abandoning the horde-

Far, far away, Kili's face went white with horror as Ancalagon launched himself back at the balrog, roars shaking the very rocks. What did that idiot think he was _doing_? "ANCALAGON!"

"It's no use." Balin muttered, "Horde-fever is upon him. He might have an unusual horde, but never have I heard a dragon running from it."

"But- he's not just a dragon, he's a hobbit! A Baggins! The Baggins who refused most of his share of treasure despite all that we did and told Uncle Thorin off for being in gold-fever!"

Balin shrugged uncomfortably- it looked as though the Dragon's blood trumped a Baggins. Kili shook his head as he yelled, "ANCALAGON! COME!"

The dragon didn't seem to hear him, twisting and turning to shoot fire at the Balrog. The Balrog stumbled back a few steps, before digging its heals in. Two sets of wings flared outwards, as fire spun and blasted against each other.

"He can't win Kili." Ori fretted softly, eyes wide. "The Balrogs- they are Maiar level spirits! The same level as Gandalf! Gandalf himself would have to be the one to kill the Balrog."

Kili was growing more and more worried- technically he was the leader. He needed to decide now- did they close the doors on their companion? Or, did they leave the doors open and hope that the dragon would come to his senses and flee?

Balin swore. "He's driving the Balrog back!"

Kili looked- and his heart leapt in joy.

The Balrog, slowly, but surely, was being driven back in the direction from whence it had come. Ancalagon, white-hot flames, hotter then any forge, dove after it. The flames still swirled and mingled, the wings still rent the air- but Ancalagon was _winning_.

Ori abruptly screamed, "ARCHERS! PICK OFF THOSE ORCS AIMING FOR ANCALA!"

Shouts and the sound of dwarves scrambling for weapons abandoned abruptly started. Kili stared at the dragon, at the huge expanse of dragon back-

He remembered how whenever Ancalagon went home, the hobbit babes begged for a ride on their giant cousin, way up high in the air. The parents would tie them on Ancalagon's back, and away the dragon would glide, giving them just a taste of freedom. And when they rode, they had a particular shape cover the weak spot, so none of the children accidentally hurt the dragon…

"Ori- I need leather. Balin- where's the mithril?"

* * *

Ancalagon felt the arrows rattle off his scales like rain, and desperately hoped that none hit his weak point- his scales, unlike his predecessor, had a bare spot on the back right. He was usually too high for anyone to reach it, but in these cramped quarters anything could happen. But for now-

His blood sang in his veins, chanting for the destruction of those that had touched his horde. His wings and body ached, throbbed in time of his heartbeats, his entire vision narrowed in on the creature that threatened him. But there was the problem of the goblins and orcs that swarmed around him, and then there was a-

"ANCALAGON! DOWN HERE!"

Ancalagon barely dodged the flaming whip at Kili's cry. He dropped like a stone, landing heavily and gasping for breath. "Wha-What- do you- is some-thing the- *gasp* matter?"

"Always the polite hobbit lad aren't you? Nevermind, I've fashioned some roughshod armor for you."

Silvery metal, attached to leather straps was thrown across his back, as several dwarves circled in around him to attach the metal on. "I can't fly with that-"

"Shush, It's lighter then the hobbits that you carried when it was your birthday! We should've made this for you long ago, but we've been putting it off." Kili said something else, but it was drowned out in a rush of fire as the whip hurtled towards them.

Ancalagon swept the stocky figures beneath his wings like a mother hen. He felt the heat wash over his back, the flames spilling on either side, and the leather straps heat up in response- but where the armor rested, remained surprisingly cool.

"Get out now. And close the doors, before the orcs swarm you. I don't think I'm going to survive this-"

"Don't you dare think like that. You can never think that you're going to die in a fight, or else you will. You will win, and you will say hello to Bilbo again." There was a hearty thud, and the sounds of feet were quickly drowned out by another rush of fire. Ancalagon kept his body wrapped around the idiot dwarves.

There was a shout from the doorway, as Orcs rushed to it, ignoring the dragon and the dwarves underneath. "Go Ancalagon- we'll keep the door open and Orcs dead. You take care of the Balrog."

Easier said then done- Ancalagon dutifully winged off in the direction of the Balrog as the Dwarves rushed the Orcs. Even dwarves had to fall back underneath the heat. Truthfully, Ancalagon was feeling it as well- but he ignored it for now.

_Back_. He needed to push the Balrog _back_ further and further and further-

The Balrog toppled, wings unable to support its weight as it fell into the abyss. Ancalagon shot after him, wings folding up along his body to chase the Balrog deeper and deeper, further and further-

A blast of heat so hot that even Ancalagon had to stop, washed over him. He stopped on the edge, feeling every ache, every cut, bruise, gash, and muscle scream. Surely not even a Balrog could survive that shadowy pit-

Something in the darkness _moved_ with a slimy, slithering sound. Ancalagon's heart froze in terror. There was another movement, like giant teeth nibbling on the very bones and back of the Earth itself. Nameless dread filled the dragon, as he ignored the Balrog, ignored everything, and shot _up_. _Faster. FASTERfasterfasterfasterfast er__**faster**__ runrunrunrunrun__**run**__._

The dragon spotted the light up above, and forced exhausted wings to beat faster. An eye, the size of the dragon, blinked.

That dark thing that had no name slithered back into the darkness to await the Destruction of the World, before the Renewing.

* * *

Bilbo received word that Ancalagon had been grievously injured in Moria shortly before his 130th birthday, and Frodo's 33rd. It wasn't much time- and it didn't change anything really. Bilbo was already planning on leaving. Frodo needed to grow into Bag-End, and didn't need to look after his insane uncle while he was at it. And Bilbo was itching for one last adventure, as his mind grew thin, like too little butter across bread.

Gandalf promised to be there with his famous fireworks. And since Bilbo had no intention of going to Erebor, he would go to Rivendell and then to Moria. There he would visit his first son.

The party went without a hitch, and somehow Bilbo managed to leave the ring behind. It called to him, but he ignored it. Mostly. There were times he could feel an ache in his bones about it.

Gandalf helped him get to Rivendell, and the Elves there helped him get to Moria. His son, his oldest, the one he had worried about the most, was curled up atop of his 'horde' asleep. The dwarves admitted that it was surprising that Ancalagon could even fly seeming how there were more holes then wing at that point. And even through his scales, the dragon had been partially cooked alive. Scorch marks from the whip would forever mar his scales.

Ancalagon was sleeping when Bilbo entered. Several dwarves were hovering around him, holding long bits of string as they carefully measured his weakspot. Bilbo smiled at the sight. Then frowned.

"YOU LET MY SON FIGHT A BALROG WITHOUT ARMOR?!"

It took a bit for everyone to calm Bilbo down, which Ancalagon slept through. His wings were masses of bandage-blankets slathered with enough healing salve to get a company of dwarves through a year. Bilbo could see scorch marks, making a permanent indent in scales.

"Oh my dear child." Bilbo murmured. That woke Ancalagon up, the dragons eyes slowly cracking open. A large smile split both son and father's face, as the Dragon's large head leaned sideways to lightly brush against the hobbits hand.

"Dad. I fought a balrog."

"I heard."

"I don't think its dead yet." Ancalagon admitted softly. "But it fell in so deep, I couldn't- there was something there dad. Something horrible. Something- something really, really bad. Even worse then a Balrog."

"The nameless ones, who gnaw on the bones of the Earth. It was good that you turned back then. You would not have been able to win- I doubt Gandalf would've been able to win against those." Bilbo said softly, climbing atop the thick fleece blankets to nestle against his Son's side.

Ancalagon sighed as his head lowered to be able to watch his father. "I just want to go home."

"Once you're healed, you certainly may."

Ancalagon hesitated, "I don't think that's possible. I've changed. I think- I think I'm more Wyrm then Hobbit now. And only Hobbits belong in the Shire."

"I think you will find that the ones whose opinions really matter won't mind."

"No father, when I fought the Balrog- I wasn't a hobbit. I was- I was just a wyrm. Something that didn't stop, didn't think- just fought for its horde."

A dark shadow crossed Bilbo's face. "Ancalagon…"

They didn't discuss the matter any further, even as it nagged and niggled at their minds.

* * *

It was a bittersweet return to the Shire. It was fifteen years later- Frodo had already left. Frodo had already left, been stabbed, gone through Moria, where Pippen had managed to reawaken the weakened Balrog leading to Gandalf's death. Ancalagon, in retaliation, had hunted down several of the Nazguls, eating them, and melting their magic rings in his belly flames. It caused an upset stomach, almost grounding him as the magic sparked and fought their destruction.

But the fight with the Balrog had reawakened something within him- he could hear a siren call from Mordor, calling him to come home. It wasn't home though, and Anclagon needed to reassure himself of that.

So he went back home to the Shire.

His heart ached at the thought of Frodo, his little brother, going off without him- but the Elf's words in Lotherien, Lady Galadriel's words, they bugged at him. The Shire burning- the Shire being attacked. It would happen. Whether or not Frodo managed to destroy the ring, it would happen.

The least Ancalagon could do while his little brother went to Mordor was to protect their home.

A small contingent of dwarves went with him, ready to protect the Shire. Kili mentioned that his Uncle may or may not be coming- giving Rivendell a wide berth. The Human Rangers that had been originally protecting the Shire had since taken off to aid Gondor.

Ancalagon didn't actually go into the Shire- he remained within earshot, listening for trouble, but avoiding the Hobbits. He was marked from his failed battle, and it showed. Kili had rolled his eyes at the reasoning, but remained remarkably silent.

So the silent months trickled by, until-

"YOU STOP THIS INSTANT!" Lobelia Sackville-Baggins voice broke the sweet silence. Her voice was higher pitched then normal, more urgent. "YOU PUT THOSE CHILDREN DOWN NOW!"

"Or what little Hobbit? Gonna whack us with your umbrella?" The cruel, mocking words made Ancalagon's blood boil. His wings snapped out, bowling a few of the dwarves over as he took to the sky.

The humans had no idea what happened. One minute they were threatening to gut a hobbit child (and they would've too) as a frail old hobbit woman threatened them despite not being to their waist- and the next, a dragon dripping flames landed directly behind the lady.

The dragon snarled, "Let the child go. AND LEAVE!"

The old lady didn't even bat an eye at the dragon, only darting forward to catch the child. The men took a few steps back- as a contingent of dwarves with a royal banner proclaiming that King Thorin was among them rounded the corner.

* * *

Thorin knew his homeland was under siege. Mordor's forces had arisen against them, fighting even now to try to get to the treasure of Erebor. He had left Gloin behind to spearhead those forces against the Orcs and Goblins. The rest- they came with him to protect the Shire, Bilbo's homeland. Bilbo was no longer there- but a debt was a debt.

The mithril shirt gifted to Bilbo, and passed down to his second son was a partial repayment- but saving a home needed to be repaid in kind. And if Thorin could save Bilbo's home, then perhaps he could finally ease his heart and stop Dis from frowning at him in disapproval.

Still, he wasn't expecting the dragon to interrupt the men, when Thorin had been planning on doing so. Nor was he expecting Kili to squeak in dread. "It's the Sackville-Baggins! Crap, that old hag is twice as scary then even mother!"

A woman who scared his nephews? (He heard that even Dwalin quite approved of her fiery spirit which told him more then he wanted to know). Either way, this woman was a strong one. Thorin's back straightened as she ran her eyes across them- and found them wanting.

With a loud sniff, she turned her back to them, to face the dragon meekly cowering in response. "Ancalagon." Her tone could've turned Brandy River to ice in midsummer. The wyrm visibly quailed at her tone.

She took a deep breath, arms tightening around the young hobbit at her side. "Ancalagon Baggins."

The Wyrm blinked. Slowly he looked at her. "Yes?"

"Stand up straight Baggins, don't slouch so." The wyrm's back instantly straightened, and his body went taunt. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins took a deep breath, and said without minding the fact that everyone could hear her, "I withdraw."

"I- Wait, what?"

"I withdraw my claim on Bag-End." Lobelia said proudly, even as Thorin's mind went back to what his dwarves had reported. The Sackville-Baggins woman had been aiming for the hole for _years_. Why would she- "Thank you for saving my Grandson. I'm eternally in your debt."

She said it calmly, as if she wasn't relinquishing years of wasted effort.

Ancalagon stammered, and bowed his head meekly. "It was nothing Miss."

"Yes, it was something. If it weren't for you, then I'd be the last. And I won't let any house get in-between me and my Grandson. You may have Bag-End, you and your family Mister Baggins."

She inclined her head to the _wyrm_. The closest she would come to a bow, the greatest show of respect he'd seen out of her, even when he had originally met her on the road and she had laughed at his King status.

Ancalagon shook his head. "I'm glad to of been able to save his life."

Baggins and Sackville-Baggins smilled at each other, as the young Hobbit clung to his grandmother in confusion. The woman tutted as she pulled her grandson to his feet, brushing sand off his shoulders and back. "We'll have to draw a bath up for you."

"Aye Grandma. Goodbye Mister Baggins." The two hobbits went peacefully along their ways. Thorin stared hard after her.

A soft voice pipped up at his side, "We can give you her address if you want, Uncle."

"Quiet you."

He still found himself outside of a slightly rougher door then Bilbo's own as night slowly fell. Inside, he could hear her moving inside, before he at least raised his fist to knock.

No one knew what exactly was said. Thorin and Lobelia refused to talk about it. Kili and Fili both only knew that something she had said something that struck a nerve when Thorin braided their hair, murmuring ancient songs of life and renewal beneath his breath, an odd look in his eyes. Like he was only just realizing something.

(Fili swore to his brother after that Thorin had said at one point, _"I could have buried you because of my lust for treasure_" but neither said a word to any other.)

It was said in Rivendell that Bilbo had never been more surprised then when the dwarf came riding up on a pony to apologize publicly.

_There are no tales of a Dragon. No heroic tales, to be told in man, dwarf and elven tongue. There is however a song sung by a little people with big hairy feet of a guardian and protector. Of Ancalagon Baggins, one of the most unusual hobbits, nearly as batty as Old Took who had married a fairy._

-end-


End file.
